But, Holbrook told a dozen students at the high school, his ties to Holyoke go back decades.

He performed for four years in the 1950s as a member of the Valley Players at the former Mountain Park Casino. It’s where he first did “Mark Twain.”

Performing at Mountain Park also was where he earned membership in Equity, the professional actors’ union, which opened doors for him to perform on Broadway, he said.

Holbrook folded his overcoat on a railing in the Edward Shevlin Studio at the high school and spoke to the students for nearly twice as long as a session that was supposed to last an hour.

He weaved history lessons about the importance of Twain, Ed Sullivan and early television, stage acting vs. the movies and TV, and how dedication to his craft damaged his family life.

Early on, he said, the combination of needing to make a living and Mark Twain’s insight into America drew him to build a stage show on the author of works such as “Huckleberry Finn.”

Twain spoke the truth, said Holbrook, who said he learned he himself had an ability to say what needed to be said, “come hell or high water.”

In “Huckleberry Finn,” Twain exposed the uniquely American “silent lie” about the broad and deep acceptance of slavery, Holbrook said.

He quoted Twain: “Among other common lies, we have the silent lie—the deception which one conveys by simply keeping still and concealing the truth. Many obstinate truth mongers indulge in this dissipation, imagining that if they speak no lie, they lie not at all ... There is no art to a silent lie. It is timid and shabby.”

The Republican | Mark M. MurrayHal Holbrook speaks to students at Holyoke High School and answer their questions about acting.

Holbrook won a Tony Award in 1966 for Mark Twain, won two Emmy Awards for TV work and has acted in movies with luminaries such as Tom Cruise, Clint Eastwood and Robert Redford.

But acting was also his way of putting bread on the table, he said.

“You have to work hard, which is what you have to do. You have to do it for yourself. No one can do it for you,” Holbrook said.

Holbrook, who grew up in Weymouth, said he realized acting was his path as he attended military school, where, he said, “I was not a good soldier.”

A friend said he could get the academic credit he needed by taking drama at the military school.

“And there was no homework,” Holbrook said.

Acting let him discover why characters behave as they do, and also, that he had quirks, he said.

“Plus, it also connects to something in your personality that isn’t quite right, or well-adjusted,” he said.

Ciara Prieto, 14, a drama student, said Holbrook inspired her.

“I thought it was pretty cool to meet him because he’s won a Tony, he’s won Emmys. I like the way he explained his view on acting,” Prieto said.

Kyle Schreiber, 16, said he knew little about Holbrook before, but is now a fan.

Holbrook was the shadowy “Deep Throat” who fed information to Robert Redford’s Washington Post reporter Bob Woodward to topple the corrupt Nixon White House in “All the President’s Men.” It was a role he told Redford, his friend, he didn’t want, he said.

“Nobody’s going to see me, it’s a nothing role,” Holbrook said he told Redford.

Redford came to his home and persuaded him by saying Deep Throat was the character audiences would remember.

“He was right. I did the role and people remembered the role more than any other in the picture,” Holbrook said.

Last year, Holbrook played the father of Katy Sagal’s character on “Sons of Anarchy,” a TV drama about the leathered-and-tattooed members of an outlaw motorcycle club with Shakespearean undertones.

“I enjoyed it. I love the way they look. They wore those leather vests and the tattoos. It was like Shakespeare. But they were all great guys. They were all so nice. They were very respectful to me,” Holbrook said.

He was candid about how travel demands of being an actor made him a poor father to two of his five children.

He said it was from his late wife, actress Dixie Carter (“Designing Women”), that he learned about love, kindness and forgiveness.

“She always, always encouraged me, told me I was wonderful, even when I knew I wasn’t.

“Good luck to you,” he concluded to the students, “good luck to you, good luck to you. Don’t give up.”